


Kiss the knife, embrace the fire

by BeautifulViolence



Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Child Abuse, Coercion, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:50:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4565280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulViolence/pseuds/BeautifulViolence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Carmen's twin sister Clarise chose Dauntless over Candor, Carmen was beat within an inch of her life. But now that her sister is back, it's been revealed that she was only acting as a spy for their father but won't give up any information. Carmen is forced to take her sister's place in Dauntless to find the truth, but Eric won't be fooled so easily. (Eric/OC, Divergent)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Angels of Candor

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: I do not own anything DIVERGENT or the characters; the only thing I own are my OC's Carmen Mathias, Gabe, Marla, etc, and original ideas.

**A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first fanfiction I have ever done and I'm going to start off with a warning. For those who are uncomfortable with mature themes, please be aware that some scenes will be graphic (this first chapter included, and come on my name is BeautifulViolence and that should say it all). Following chapters will have rough kissing, some non-con via coercion, and all that stuff because my style is pretty gritty. I do try my best to keep characters in character. Please read and enjoy!**

**And definitely leave me a comment if you like it/ want to read more! All input is read and helps along the way :)**

***And I do not own any DIVERGENT characters, just my ofc (Carmen/Clarise Mathias) and original ideas!  
-Xxoo, Beau**

* * *

I give Clarise's hand a squeeze and receive one back. She smiles at me, and I return that too although it's like looking into a mirror. We're twins and identical ones at that; strawberry blonde hair that hits our waists and eyes so blue they're circles of sky- just these two traits alone make us look much younger than sixteen.

The angels of Candor, they call us. But that is where my angelic qualities stop. Angels couldn't be as loud and sarcastic as I am or God would have sent them straight down to Earth. My sister, on the other hand, embodies every word of our nickname because her personality is straight, sweet Amity; I would tell her that too, but only at a time when father can't hear.

I'm happy I don't have to go through the Crossing Ceremony alone.

_"Carmen Mathias."_

That's my name; it's time to go. One more squeeze and my hand's free, and I'm rising and moving down the row while trying to avoid treading on toes.

My steps don't falter and my legs don't shake, unlike many other of the kids that had to choose where they'll end up. I already know exactly where I belong. Absentmindedly, I sweep a hand down my shirt –black and white- the sign of those devoted to truth and I stop myself, having my palm come to a rest on my ribs. I mustn't appear like I'm indecisive because father will punish me for it later.

Marcus, the Abnegation leader, hands me the knife and tells me to choose.

I cut a line on my palm and press against it until the blood begins to bead. I raise my head and look at the people I've grown up with, my Candor, and I find my sister. She nods at me. There's barely a breath before I hold it over the bowl of glass, squeeze, and stain the shards with the other two drops of the kids before.

_"Candor."_

The section that holds my home faction cheers while the others hold their bored silence. They don't know me personally but I'm as Candor as can be, but because I'm not a transfer, they don't have outraged expressions of jilted parents to be amused by. I return back to the sea of black and white and stumble back to my seat among smiles. Clarise rises and hugs me, giggling with joy, and I exhale hard not realizing I was holding my breath the whole time.

_"Clarise Mathias."_

It's her turn. I take a seat as she moves through the aisle as I did, only she apologizes profusely whenever she has to inconvenience someone by passing. Still buzzing from my decision, I run my palms over my legs to calm the energy. I look up in time to catch Clarise accepting the knife. She nods and stares at the Candor bowl. I wait for her to look at me so I can comfort her too, so I can nod as she did- but she doesn't turn back to look for me.

I should have known right then.

My sister, so like me that when she moves that my feet move with her, holds her hand out. Her blood sizzles as it hits the coals and the room's murmurs fall silent. My blood freezes and I shake my head. No. She's made a mistake; let her choose again. She obviously meant Candor.

But it's done: _"Dauntless."_

I watch Clarise's retreating back as she approaches the Dauntless; reckless describes everything about them from the low cut shirts to their skin-tight, matte black uniforms, and they greet her with open arms the way I would have. They're her new family. They're her new home. My legs give out and I fall back into my seat. There's a sick wet gasping noise coming nearby and it's going without anyone stopping it. But it's me. I'm crying.

My sister has abandoned me.

* * *

  


The smack to my face sends me to the floor. Shaking all over with sobs, I crawl away to the corner and draw my arms to my face to protect it but they're thrown open as he wrenches them apart. One of my eyes is so swollen it won't open.

When it was Clarise and I, the beating wasn't so bad because it was spread between both of us. Now that I'm the only one left, I receive all of his blind fury.

She knew this and she still left.

"Did you know?" My father yells from above. His spit flies into my face as he turns strangely to shout at the door. "Did you know she was going to leave?"

"No," I gasp, crying hard. "She didn't tell me!"

"Bullshit. You're her twin."

He strikes me full in the face again and I go down against the wall. Blood spews from my nose and my hands fly up as I'm gasping, whimpering. It's not broken at least. But I know I'll be missing school again. No one is allowed to see my face like this, not without whispering about the Great Amadeus Mathias of Candor. I'll be behind again in lessons when I was excelling. Bad grades will mean more punishment. Everyone outside of Candor thinks I'm sickly but if only they knew the sickness just extended to the head, and the one that belonged to my father.

My shrieks definitely echo through the Candor compound, and I know they can be heard, but for the sake of respect no one will come to my aid. They all saw what my sister did and they all know the repercussion that will follow. No one will stand up to the magistrate of Candor. They're just like me- scared and powerless, but at least they are safe as long as they keep their mouth shut. My silence only earns me more pain.

"You." He points at me with the folded belt. I wince as if it had struck me. "You will take up Clarise's training and be the next magistrate."

I suffer the next hour with strikes to my back and legs and every place that will be covered by my uniform. Then he lets me go and I stumble to the bathroom. My hands tremble as I spin the knobs around to open them. Hot water rushes down and my faces burns where it's been cut open. I open my mouth and let the water rush in and wash the blood away there.

"Why?" I yell hoarsely into the water. The burning gush drowns me out, gurgling.

_Why did you leave me here, Clarise?_

* * *

  


The month passes and although at least five new kids have joined Candor, I haven't seen a hair of them. I train every day from the moment I wake up to the moment I sleep under my father's instruction. Clarise's bedroom has been emptied of everything including her dresser, bed, and desk, and leaves an empty room of white that serves as both my prison and my classroom.

My father has been employing "shock reinforcement" on me through a chair with electrodes placed on all points of my body. He tells me Clarise went through this whole thing too, and now that I'm going through it, I almost can't blame her for abandoning me.

Almost.

_"No love. No intimacy. Nothing to cloud your judgment." Click._

I scream out in agony as he flips the switch that livens the electrodes and shocks me with each word. My hands twitch in place because my wrists are strapped to the chair by leather belts. I feel like my limbs are on fire and my brain is boiling. Die, just let me die, God. Please. For as long as I live, no one will touch me because I don't want it. I don't want any of this. Click - The current dies. My chest heaves as I slump forward, panting. My eyes blink wildly to clear the sparks in my eyes.

It's the same everyday, only I'm taught the way Clarise must have been. He repeats the same demands over and over again.

_"No feelings. No friends. Nothing to cloud your judgment." Click._

I repeat what he says but it doesn't spare me. The switch was flipped as I was mid-word. Stinging and burning, the electricity powers through my limbs and burns my bones until I fear they're black. I open my eyes in a sweat. But my skin is fine, slightly damp but I'm physically untouched. Such is the magic of electricity.

_"No love. No intimacy. Nothing to cloud your judgment."_

"No feelings. No friends. Nothing to cloud your judgment."

There's a knocking at the door. My father lets the current flow a second more before flipping it off. I slump down into my chair, gasping and dry heaving and spitting saliva onto my arm.

"What?" My father demands.

The door pops open and Avery sticks his head in. "It's your daughter." He doesn't look at me although I'm sitting right there. "The Dauntless one is back."

What? Clarise is back?

I don't think I heard him clearly, but my father only nods and stands from the controls. He doesn't say anything to me as he leaves and I stare at the door in confusion as it slams shut. There's a sick feeling in my chest now that I think of her.

_Why is she back? She was free from this hell on Earth. She should have stayed away._

* * *

  


The next morning, father tells me to shower and get dressed and ready to see my sister. I comply and do everything as quickly as possible. Soon I'm walking down the hall to the guest room where my sister has been assigned to stay.

I knock twice.

My father's voice is the only one that comes from the other side: "Carmen, enter."

I take a deep breath and open the door. I woke up earlier in anxiety about how I'll react to seeing my sister again, and even more time wondering what I should say to her, but I shouldn't have even made the effort. She's unconscious.

The room is dark but I see the two occupants inside almost immediately. Clarise rests in bed beneath cold white sheets and a machine beeps softly beside her, blinking green light. My father stands at the foot of her bed. With maternal hands, he tucks the cloth around and under her body and even adjusts her pillow so that her head is supported. For a moment I wonder if she's dead, but no. Her stomach rises in time with her breaths.

I look down at her and though I'm glaring, my look instantly softens. She's been beaten to near death. Her face is pale but mottled with purple and is nearly unrecognizable. And there's differences about her that separate her from when I last saw her. Her hair is a different color, curled, and there's redness on her cheeks and lips. Eyeliner. I frown. She's wearing makeup.

Father forbid it within his house because using it was creating a false image of ourselves. And any duplicity or falseness was against the customs of Candor. In some ways, our household is like Abnegation in restricting life's pleasures, only we are punished out of discipline to remain just and neutral, not to uphold selflessness.

"She's in a coma." I say, looking up at my father. There's bandages on his knuckles and stains to mark where they were cut. This is his work.

"You will take her place back in Dauntless in three days."

I stare back down at Clarise's broken body. I can't help but shake the thought that I'm looking at me, how I feel inside, because while on the outside I'm pristine, within I'm anything but whole. I look away from her and breathe hard through my nose. It doesn't make sense what he's asking.

"Why should I? She _left_ us."

"I sent her." He pauses so that it can sink in. "There has been word that the Dauntless are working with the Erudite with rumors that they plan to overthrow Abnegation. They intend to rule over all of us. You will find the truth to the lies."

"Why do this? She came back."

"She did, but she wouldn't divulge what she knew. What she was sent for. She announced to me she was leaving and not coming back. What ever training they put the Dauntless through, it's broken her loyalty to us and I couldn't allow her to go back and tell them what I've done."

"You beat me when she left," I hiss through gritted teeth.

"The rest of Candor would not approve of the subterfuge. I had to let them think I was oblivious. For the truth, we must sacrifice." I thought I had seen it all living here for sixteen years but my father's cruelty never fails to surprise me.

_For the truth, **I** must sacrifice he means._

My father opens the door and calls into the hall, "Avery, you were Dauntless-born. Brief her on who she should know, what she should know. Get her ready. She leaves in three days."

* * *

((A/N: Hello again! Thanks for reading the first chapter! I hope Carmen's personality came through and stay tuned for the next chapter :) -Beau ))


	2. Becoming Clarise

**A/N: We finally get to meet Eric this chapter, let me know how I portrayed him - Beau :)**

* * *

  
Avery is my father's "right-hand" and is over six feet two with less than five percent body fat, despite nearing his early forties. He has brown eyes that are so dark they're almost black and they match his skin. He is the muscle that protects my father's steps. It used to be my mother he protected, but after her death nothing has been the same. Today, he sits across me with a stack of glossy photos on his lap, smiling.

He shows me another photo. A boy with cropped brown hair and a dark frown who must be a year or two older than I am. "Who is this?"

"They call him 'Four'." I recite. "I don't remember if they included his real name."

"Good girl." He flips the page and brings out another. The tattoos scrawled on both sides of the one's neck and the piercings make him unmistakable. I'd remember it as easily as seeing my father's face.

"Eric," I say. Then he flashes the next image and draws it behind his back, an almost playful gesture. But it was of an older man and that's enough of a hint for me. "Max?" I guess.

"Right." Then he smooths out a neat chart of faces in front of me, where I easily name the names because the fear of my father's forceful backhand is a great motivator. "You have a good memory."

I'm about to smile back when there's a knocking on the door and Hammel sticks his head inside. "How is her progress, Avery?" As with all my father's men, he doesn't say a word to me and only looks at the man he came to see.

Avery allows himself to look bored and disappointed. "The stupid girl can manage. She knows enough names to pass for the other one."

"Good. Amadeus says to move onto striking and defense as soon as possible."

"Within the hour," Avery says.

Once the door slams and we're sure we're in the clear, the stern line of Avery's mouth drops so that he's smiling with wide, white teeth again. Neither of us addresses this change because we're used to it.

In another world - one where Mom was still alive - Avery and I could be good friends. But my father wouldn't allow that because he doesn't believe in kindness toward his own children. Kindness, he says, can sway your decision and may divert you from the truth. What he believes in is obedience and if Avery was ordered to hit me, he would because that's his job. But father likes to use his own fists too much to ask anyone else.

People have told me by the way of rumors that Avery and my mother had been in the same initiation class in Candor. They had been close friends although what happened to their friendship when she met my father is unclear. I still see Avery kindly even now. When Clarise and I were young, he would sneak us little sweets whenever he visited because he knew my father wouldn't have allowed them and my mother had no say. But now that we're older and my mother is gone, he has to pretend we don't exist and I have to pretend I'm okay with it.

* * *

  
Avery helps to dry my hair after we dye it and it's odd to watch. His broad hands are gentle as they fluff the wet strands under the blowdryer until they're dry. I've seen him strangle a man until he was unconscious with those hands. The man had been trying to hurt my father during a speech given at a year when it was Candor's turn to host the Choosing Ceremony, yelling obscenities and wielding a knife. I'm happy he did it because my mom was right behind my father. After my father, it would have been her turn.

Soon my hair is dry. He parts it down the middle, stands back to consider it, then shaking his head again, switches it so my hair folds over one of my green eyes, hiding it. "Funny, the color suits you. You've been blonde your whole life that I barely recognize you now."

"It's just…" I pull a clump of bang away from my face and let it fall. "It's so red." My right eye itches below the bangs and I raise my hand to itch it, but Avery stops me.

"Careful, remember the mascara," he warns.

I groan and roll my eyes. At first, I had secretly been excited to be able to wear makeup, and Bretta (Avery's wife) helped me put it on with her steady hand. And while it had turned me into a completely different person, pretty even, the novelty soon wore off. I decided I hated it within an hour. The red lipstick is a deep wine hue like my hair but it gets everywhere, even in my bangs. Some strands cling to it even now and I have to purse my lips and blow them off repeatedly.

As I leave, Bretta hands me a small backpack that contains everything my sister had been carrying on the way here. She really was leaving Candor for good because she traveled lightly: a comb, an MRE, a bottle of water, and a few makeup things.

"Do I have to make my face like this everyday?" I complain. It seems like a lot of work.

"If you want to look like your sister, yes," Avery says, shoving me into the towncar. Then he climbs in after me, which is strange. He closes the door and looks at the window that separates the driver from the interior but it's closed.

No one is likely listening to us but he whispers anyway: "You'll be okay, Carmen. Just keep your head on straight and get what your father wants and get out."

My father doesn't even know exactly what he wants. He wants information. Evidence of collusion. But whether he wants recordings, files, or live confessions, he didn't specify. But I don't say anything, only nodding, "I'll try. But won't the Dauntless wonder where I've been?"

"The story your father intends is that you were trying to seek shelter with your aunt in Erudite. But she turned you away, and on coming back to Dauntless, you received a nasty head that altered your memory."

I reach my fingers up with a gasp to feel for a leftover of my father's abuse. But there's nothing; the last beating had been two weeks ago and I only feel dry but freshly washed hair. "What head wound?"

Avery sighs. I don't have time to react when he hits me with the butt of his pistol and I crumple to the floor of the car, sliding into darkness. I hear him say, "This one."

* * *

  
The glowing orbs above me double but slowly come into focus. Hanging lights.

"Get up," a voice says. "You're good to go."

I blink my eyes once, twice, and I see an older woman, late thirties maybe, drawing my sheet off my body. I immediately feel the pulsing in the side of my head and groan, reaching up. But a bandage stops me. Avery must have put a lot more force than needed just to make the head wound more convincing.

Best to start this off with father's story.

"I'm having trouble remembering stuff," I say.

"Well, you fell and hit your head pretty hard, genius." She's all business and no sympathy. I take her hand as she holds it out so I can sit up. "Now get going, your friends have been bothering me the whole day already asking how you are."

I nod and slide off the bed. Clarise's friends, not mine. My stomach gives a weak lurch at what I'm going to do when I have to face them. Amnesia or not, they may be able to tell I'm not really her. I'm lost for a second in this infirmary but the medic points me towards the door.

"Go on," She says. "It's lunch time, you might be able to still get a tray if you go down in time."

The hallways of dauntless are low lit and narrow. I feel like a miner wandering in all this darkness lit only with lanterns of cheap, white fluorescence. But I want to go where ever they're serving food, because going by how loud my stomach is growling, I've probably been out a whole day.

There's two men walking down the hallway. My body freezes and I quickly look for a place to hide or run down because I know them: Four and Eric. They speak in hushed voices among themselves and haven't spotted me yet. But before I can act, they're upon me and I instinctively back up into the wall.

"Hello, Clarise," Four says, looking up as they pass. "How are you feeling?"

"Hello, Four," I reply carefully. My head aches so I say, truthfully: "I could be better." Then when Eric looks at me, I quickly add, "Hello, Eric."

At that Eric stops in his tracks, narrowing his eyes at me. The muscles at his throat pull taut and he looks surprised. "Come again?"

My eyes flicker over the hallway, nervously. Have I said something wrong? _No, it was just a greeting and everyone greets the leaders here,_ my mind affirms, _Calm your ass down, Carmen. Talk._

"I said 'Hello, Eric'."

At that, the pierced leader slowly tilts his head at Four and they share a look. But I don't have time to question it when a girl with dark hair streaked with green bounces out of the nearby hallways screaming my sister's name. I want to tell her to be quiet but she grabs my arm and plants a kiss on my cheek. I freeze up, surprised, and barely suppress my look of horror at the affection. I forget, I'm supposed to be Clarise right now.

"Where have you been, girl?" She coos with pink glossy lips, and to my relief she drags me away with her down the way she came and away from the guys. "Gabe has been in absolute shits worrying about you."

I don't know who this Gabe is but say, "Sorry, I didn't mean to be gone so long. I also hit my head pretty hard too so I don't remember much."

I wonder if my sister was able to get a boyfriend in the month she's been training. I hope not - I've never kissed anyone before and I hope I don't have to start now.

* * *

  
The girl's name is Marla and I found this out when someone waved to us, calling her, once we entered the mess hall. She has little silver bulbs that run up and down her ear, through both the cartilage and lobe. I stare at it almost in fascination. I've only seen three max in an ear at one time but she must have ten.

"Gabe!" Marla calls at the top of her lungs. "Look who's finally awake!"

She waves her pale hand at someone I can't see because the room is very crowded and a lot of faces turn to look. Her shrieks carry far and I resist the urge to cover my ears, choosing to smile instead. We come to a table where two boys sit and it's the first time I look upon the people my sister found comfort in while in Dauntless.

The boy who could only be Gabe has hay brown hair with bangs that nearly blind him and he rises. His mouth opens as if to answer Marla but he forgoes words. He grabs her roughly around the waist and kisses her. Watching them, I'm overcome with both disgust at the PDA and relief that I won't need to be kissing anyone for now. Candor's discipline was at least strong enough to last a month.

"God, Clar, you look like shit," he says once he pulls himself free from Marla's mouth.

I make a face, frowning. "Thanks. You too."

Gabe's blue eyes widen for a moment, then he laughs hard. "Wow, you've gotten feisty since you've been gone!"

_Shit,_ I think. _Act more like Clarise, you idiot. Sweet like honey, be it._

I flutter my eyes in the way Clarise usually does and mimic the saccharine quality of her natural voice. "Sorry, I don't know what came over me. Must be my head."

I motion to the bandage right above my right temple. By the end of the day, everyone in the nation should know I have a head injury.

The other boy looks up to me then and I notice he has two lines tattooed beneath his eyes as if he wanted a permanent stream of tears there, and he only watches me with measured eyes. I suddenly feel self-conscious that I'm not acting how I should. I shift my pose so that I'm clasping my right elbow which is something Clarise does when she's nervous.

"How did that happen?" he asks.

"I fell somewhere... I think. I really can't remember much." Best to let them think I'm in the dark too.

"Sounds lame," he notes with a strange tone. He takes a slow sip from his cup and looks away. "But it's a good thing you're okay."

Gabe's hands land on my shoulders and he forces me down onto the bench. "Stop yapping, Ben. She needs to eat. We have a big night tonight."

A metal tray skids over the table until it's at my fingertips. It's separated by box compartments that contains a few scoops of vegetables, some meatloaf-looking thing, and a heel of white bread. Marla returns with a glass of water and I feel touched by her mothering. After any beating, if I was too hurt to move, I wouldn't be able to eat or drink unless I was well enough to get it myself.

"What's happening tonight?" I ask thickly, my jaw aching as it works on the bread. I try the meatloaf and it's actually not half bad.

"You came back in time for Welcoming Night. You know, the big celebrations for us initiates after they drove us into the ground and made us eat shit for the past thirty days?"

I frown but suppress it because Ben's looking at me again. _Did they really make Clarise eat shit? These Dauntless are disgusting._

But he continues as if he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary, "-So we can finally drink with the leaders and knock elbows with the other Dauntless. But then there's more training tomorrow so we can't be getting black-out drunk although-"

Suddenly a round of stomping drowns him out and we look up to see what's going on. Someone's walking on the raised stage beside the tables and my chest tightens at the sight of his cold, calculating gaze so like my father's. The spotlight above makes the piercing above his eyes shine and throws shadows over his tall, muscular form.

"I have an announcement." Eric yells. But there's no need to raise his voice because the sight of him alone inspires silence. "Welcoming Night for the initiates will be postponed."

The hall is awash with low murmurs of complaint and concern.

"What? Until when?" Gabe shouts in outrage.

Eric turns his steely gaze to the blonde boy and Gabe takes a step back under its strength, quieting immediately. "I was about to say 'next week after Visiting Day'. But talk while I'm talking one more time and it will be postponed forever."

Four walks a few steps forward into the light and stops, whispering something into the Dauntless leader's ear. He receives a terse whisper back and he nods.

"We would like to assess fears of certain initiates before the celebration." My heart stops when he looks straight at me, but after a moment he moves back to Gabe. "You were able to pass the final test so it should be cake for all of you."

I lower my eyes to my tray and keep eating to keep the anxiety off my face, stuffing the rest of the bread in my mouth. It feels like a stale, sticky clump now but I manage to swallow it down.

"That is all," Eric concludes. He walks off the stage and leaves with Four, the door slamming shut behind them.

After a moment, the sound of eating and clinking glassware and talking fills the room again.

"I wonder why they would want to do that?" Marla asks as she looks around. "Everyone had to see our fears before. Even Tris's." At the name, she collapses into laughter like you would at a good joke and I'm lost. "Who would have thought we'd almost see her doing the dirty with Four?"

I nearly choke on my bread and Gabe has to slap me on the back until I breathe again. "Easy there, chew! You just got out of the infirmary."

"I'm okay," I whisper and hold up a hand. But Gabe's so convinced there's something stuck that he follows with two more slaps to my back for good measure.

The three continue to talk about Four and Tris while I finish the rest of the tray silently. I should listen in but I can't. Even if I'm not talking, my brain is funneling question after question in my brain:

_What were Clarise's fears?_ _Will I be able to project them if I will myself to?_ _And what are my fears, really?_

I can think of one that we'd both share: my father. My father and his terrible love for torturing us for any reason he can devise in his brain. But other than that, I'm not a hundred percent sure of what I fear other than being discovered here.

I hope to God that doesn't show up during my simulation.


	3. Afraid of Me

**More Eric and Carmen interaction ahead ;) / Enjoy chapter 3! - - Again, I'd love any constructive comments and reviews! - xxoo Beau**

* * *

Marla takes my hand as we leave the mess hall and her fingers interlace with mine. Her voice is soft and melodic, but I keep thinking how desperately I want to pull my hand from hers because the touch makes me so uncomfortable.

But Clarise must have been used to this otherwise Marla wouldn't do it so naturally. So I take a deep breath and exhale, trying to focus on her voice instead:

"—So I was telling Gabe that he shouldn't blame his brother for hating his choice. Being a transfer from Erudite or any faction is always hard because your family will never understand your reason—"

I nod and relate because that's how I felt when Clarise left.

Marla stops herself. Her eyes search me, concerned. "You're not very talkative. I know you don't want to talk about the trip but you can always talk to me if you need to. Everything okay?"

Again, I'm touched by her kindness but I wince at the pain suddenly coursing through my body.

_No feelings. No friends. Nothing to cloud your judgment. Click._

I pull my hand from her grip and cover my face, gasping, but it can't be real. I'm not in the chair at home anymore. But it was there - a ghost of the pain, but it was definitely there. My chest is heaving and I feel sweat rising on my skin.

"Clar?" She says with a worried look.

"I'm sorry," I breathe. I lower my hands to my side but they're trembling. "My head still hurts and I'm scared about how I'll do in the simulation coming up. My head just makes everything fuzzy."

"Yours are easy. You'll be fine," she says dismissively.

This is an opportunity to learn what to prepare for. "Do you know what I did?"

She's about to tell me when Ben suddenly appears in a doorway, interrupting us. "Marla, Gabe's looking for you. Laundry room." He winks at her and she makes a face which I can't interpret but her cheeks flush.

Once she's gone, Ben takes my forearm. I manage to pull away by pretending I'm checking the bandage on my head, and he doesn't take it again.

"Are you okay?" He asks me.

"I'll be okay," I answer.

He stops me, glancing around quickly to be sure we're alone before saying, "You said what you needed to say? To your father?"

I fall quiet. Clarise told Ben where she was going but not the others? Who exactly was Ben to Clarise? A tight anxiety is building in my chest as I wonder the possibilities; I really hope I'm right that she hasn't managed to get a boyfriend yet. I'm not ready to touch someone, forget any laundry room rendezvous.

"He wasn't happy about it."

He smirks. "Well, after what you told me I didn't expect him to be." I pause and wonder if I should try to see what more he knows but he says, "We'll talk about it later. Get some rest." Ben disappears into the barracks and I watch him go, still not knowing who he is to my sister.

* * *

  
With Marla's help, I slide into the day-to-day routine of a Dauntless. It's the evening before Visiting Day, when I'm eating dinner with the others and so sure I'm in that clear, that I'm approached.

"Clarise, it's your turn for the simulation," says a voice from behind.

I look up and see Four's stony face. His eyebrows are drawn together as if he's bothered and I wonder if it's about me. The rest of my meal is abandoned as I follow him quietly down one hallway and the next before we come to a stop before a closed door.

"Will you be watching my sim?" I ask conversationally.

He smiles at that. "No. But you'll be fine." He gives my shoulder a squeeze before he leaves.

I walk in and my stomach feels like it's dropped through the tiling. My simulation advisor is Eric.

The Dauntless leader leans against the wall in a way that's both rigid and casual and he looks up as I walk in. There's something in his stare that's overwhelming and dark and suggests there's much beneath it, like the bottom of a glacier, though I wouldn't dare venture to see what's there.

"Clarise Mathias," he reads off the chart. He flips through a few pages on the clipboard and I hope there isn't enough information in there to completely undo the entire ruse.

I meet his eyes and reply sweetly, "That's me."

"Sit in the chair."

I sit -or rather, lie down- in the chair and try to appear at home. Avery mentioned that overcoming fears in the simulation were part of the Dauntless initiation process so this should be normal for me. I drum my fingers against the armrest restlessly and Eric's hand reaches out suddenly, stopping me. His hand is larger than I thought and easily eclipses mine.

My fingers stop beneath his and again, that strange look of curiosity on his face appears. I blink at him innocently and he hands me a small glass of something to drink. It's not because I'm thirsty but must have something to do with the sim.

His voice is as gentle as sandpaper: "Hurry up, Clarise."

I down it and try to summon Clarise's fears as I close my eyes. There's a piercing sensation as something sinks into the flesh of my neck. But then it's gone.

Beyond father, I hope her childhood fears still stand true today.

Father. Spiders. Small crawl spaces….  
Father. Spiders. Small crawl spaces….  
_Father..._

* * *

  


"You were holding hands with a boy today."

"No, Father," I blubber, holding my hands before my face to placate him. He must have seen wrong. I did no such thing.

He approaches me with the belt and snaps it twice. The sight of it inspires as much fear as it does relief- other days he uses the thin chain that leashes one of our guard dogs and that bruises me twice as easily.

"Outside of your school. I passed by on the bus and happened to see."

Oh, and now I remember. The boy he speaks of was from Amity but what Father misinterpreted was an act of ordinary kindness: he was helping me over a puddle of rainwater on the street. After doing that duty, the boy went on his way and that was the end of our interaction.

But it was enough; anything is enough for Father's punishment. His belt bites against my side and I go down, clutching my ribs with a wail. I make sure to be loud because if I'm quiet he'll assume it doesn't hurt.

"Tell me who he was otherwise your sister will have to suffer worse."

No. My eyes search for the door of my room and I see it's open a fraction, beyond it she's down the hall and lying in the darkness in her own bed and curled into a frail, small ball. I won't let him hurt her for my mistake. She suffers enough.

A thought rises in my head but I don't know where it could have come from: _Clarise was able to stand up to him,_ it whispers. _She was telling him she wasn't coming home._

I rise, shaking, to my feet as my father readies the belt again. He seems to recognize the intention in my eyes because he advances on me and his arm rises to strike me again.

"Stay here," he bellows at me.

I jump out of the range of his belt and run straight for the door. I'll drag Clarise out and we'll go, running away through the woods without shoes or anything beyond our souls. We'll leave all this behind.

At the door, I stop because I'm no longer in my home. The next few scenes blur in my head because it's like falling from nightmare to nightmare, but I'm so used to it when that's all I see within my own home.

* * *

  


I'm yanked back into the present and my eyes find focus, right onto Eric's face as he grabs me by the collar. He yanks me nearly out of the chair and looks straight into my eyes. People do this when they want the truth. We do it all the time in Candor.

"Who are you?" He hisses.

He's so close I can smell him; a mixture of cordite and something dark and earthy. It's making my head dizzy. "I'm... I'm Clarise Mathias."

 _How would Clarise act with a strange man threatening her?_ I make my eyes go wide and force my eyebrows up until I look fearful and harmless.

His fingers squeeze underneath my chin. He's not convinced. "Then tell me why your fears are dramatically different from what they were a week ago. Four and I broke up the initiates to help them fight their fears and you were one of mine. I remember clearly what they were." He lifts a hand and counts off on his fingers, "That man, spiders, being trapped in attics, every single serpent under the sun, then finally... you were afraid of me."

Somehow I'm not surprised Clarise was because frankly, I'm afraid of him now too.

"I remember because your final test included just having to be able to -talk- to me. You couldn't even look at me without shaking. Because you were worried I would do to you what I did to Christina during the initiation." He stares into my eyes, waiting. But even when I pretend I know what he's saying and nod, he knows I'm lying. "But you wouldn't know what I did, would you?"

I ignore the trap. "I hit my head pretty hard—" I begin.

"So you don't remember then. At least the man is the same- who is he?"

"I got over the fears, okay?" I press, not wanting to talk about father. "That's how I passed in the end, didn't I?"

He releases me. "Your fears cannot vanish after a week. They stay with you even if you beat them time after time. You're hiding something."

There's a loud thrumming outside to announce the end of dinner and everyone leaving to the sleep barracks. I intend to be one of them.

I take a breath to steady myself before I speak. "My simulation is finished. I want to be well rested for Visiting Day tomorrow. " I look at him, unflinching. "Can I go?"

Eric's staring at me with such calm that it's unsettling. I have no idea what he could be thinking. To my surprise, he blinks twice then allows me to pass. "Fine." But as I leave and hear my heart pounding in my ears, he utters a warning at my back: "You can't run away from me forever, _Clarise_."


	4. For the Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmen gets a surprise visitor on Visiting Day, and Welcoming Night ends with growing tensions between Carmen and Eric. How much does he -really- know?

**A/N: I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am! Carmeric tensions rise ;)  
Again, any constructive comments and reviews are more than welcome. All my readers and what you have to say are important! -Xxoo Beau**

* * *

  
Visiting Day begins with a different feeling; there's a cheerfulness in voices that greet each other good morning and people are running from one place to the next, when they usually would walk. My hand still isn't used to applying the eyeliner so it takes me three or four tries to get it to look presentable. Mom would visit me if she was still alive. Today, I'm only going down with the rest of them because Avery promised he'd be there.

I enter the hall full of people that are wearing black and I look for the striping of white that Avery will wear. It was a near miss but I manage to evade Eric as he walks past, conferring with another woman who I recognize as another Dauntless leader. I back into the crowd carefully and melt among them. In fifteen minutes, I've rounded the entire hall twice with no sign of the my father's bodyguard. I'm about to give up when I hear someone call "Clarise" from behind.

I'm tempted to just keep moving but that would be suspicious. I turn back to see Father in his prim magistrate uniform, appearing stately with his salt and pepper hair and wrinkled hands folded before his torso. Sadly, Avery is nowhere in sight. I wonder if Father did this on purpose. He has that intuition that tells I'm finally getting kindness from somewhere.

"Hello, father," I say coldly.

To my dismay, Eric appears a few feet away and his eyes go from me to my father, and his eyes narrow in what must be suspicion. He crosses his arms and watches us. If there is any duplicity going on it wouldn't go unnoticed by my father, and he knows it.

Father doesn't notice him but holds my face in both hands and pretends to kiss my cheek, whispering, "Any progress?"

I laugh as if he whispered a joke. And really, expecting me to unravel a major plan of collusion in one week is laughable. I utter under my breath, "Let me come home. Someone is onto me."

"Who?"

I smile and tilt my head toward Eric's direction without looking at him.

Father's expression darkens. "He's a Dauntless leader."

"Exactly. Let me come home."

"No." The word hits and ripples in my core. He holds my shoulders and I want to pull away. "Leaders have access to information you won't be able to get on your own. He will likely know what's going on with the Erudite. Get it out of him."

Now I dare to sneak a look at the tattooed leader and thankfully he's looking away. "How?"

Father's hand twitches and I recognize he's barely restrained slapping me across the face. "You may not be Erudite but you're not stupid. You know how."

"No."

Now father pulls me into him so that it looks like he's giving me a fierce hug, but his fingers are digging into the back of my neck painfully. The press is suffocating and I raise my hands slowly to grip his back. "Do as I say or your sister won't be breathing when you get home."

My lungs feel like they're about to burst and my nails dig into his shirt to fight him.

"Do what he wants. Do whatever you have to do." He whispers sharply and releases me. "For the truth, we must sacrifice."

* * *

  
Here, everything seems like a celebration. I doubt anyone around here can get a new toothbrush without it becoming a excuse to break out some liquor, drink amounts you can't handle, and be loud and rowdy. Welcoming Night is no excuse.

The kitchen staff pulled out all the stops for the event. There's so much food stacked on the tables that I don't think I'll be able to taste it all if I tried. Someone calls my sister's name again and hands me a cup with something dark red in it. I smell it and replace it back on the table, picking up a water instead. When I look up Eric is staring at me from the Leader's table.

I try to lose myself in the food and conversation but every single time I sneak a glance at the table, Eric's there. Staring. Observing. Monitoring my every damn action. I can't notice anything else.

"Hey, can we leave?" Gabe and Marla look at me in surprise. I don't add 'Eric won't stop staring daggers at me' and say instead, "The noise is really killing my head."

Gabe and Marla bring me to the laundry room where Gabe's assigned to work on off-duty hours. It's just a regular basement room that's filled from ceiling to floor with washers and dryers. None of them are going because of the party is happening upstairs.

We get comfortable on stacks of uniforms on the floor and begin a game of truth-or-dare. If you didn't want to answer a "truth" question, you had to drink as a default part of the "dare" before doing whatever you were dared to do. Since Father has made absolutely sure no alcohol has ever touched my lips, I go for truth the whole time. And they're okay with it because the questions get more and more uncomfortable for me.

"Truth," I sigh.

"Okay. Okay." Gabe takes another swig, putting his hand out. Marla's bra hangs over his face because his last dare was to wear it as a hat for a whole round. "Okay, okay, okay….Now Clar. If you have a choice of who of our instructors…who would you do and why?"

"What do you mean?"

Marla falls into peels of laughter. I wait until she's laughed out and she says, wiping her eyes, "If you had to have _sex_ with either Four or Eric? Who would you have and why?"

"I'd say….Four." My face flushes. I force myself to drink water. "I guess because he'd be gentle. Eric looks like he'd be a… 'one-pump chump'." They laugh so hard I'm worried someone will hear. But I'm proud to have recited the insult because I heard it at lunch earlier that day.

I excuse myself to go to the bathroom and once I come back, I put my hand on the Laundry Room door to open it but stop. My face flushes. There's moaning coming from inside. I back up quickly, so quickly I nearly trip over someone behind me. He catches me by the arm before I fall.

My throat tightens and I pull away. "Eric."

"Clarise." The way he says the name sends shivers down my spine. He hisses it, like he knows it's a façade.

"What are you doing down here?" Every single question of his sounds like an interrogation. And seeing as how the simulation went yesterday, it probably is. I wonder how long he's been down here and if he heard our entire round of Truth-or-Dare.

The moans from the laundry room are getting louder, joined with something that's banging against the wall. Between hearing that and being next to Eric, I've never been so uncomfortable in my life.

I should go. "We were hanging out but I'm getting a little tired. I'm going to sleep. All that booze…" I make a casual waving motion.

"You didn't drink at all."

_Shit._ I'm about to say I did now that I was downstairs in private, but Avery warned me not to backtrack.

"Well, you drank enough for the both of us." It's true. Going by the potent bourbon on his breath, he better not light up anytime soon or he might explode. _Sweet like honey_ , my mind warns. I sigh. "But it's a celebration so everyone should be celebrating."

"The man from the simulation met you for Visiting Day. Was that your father?"

Oh, so that's where the look of suspicion came from. Recognition. Still, I have better people to talk about this than Eric. Granted, they're fucking their brains out right now next door but they'll be done soon. "I don't want to talk about it."

At that, Eric shoves me into a wall and grasps the wall on both sides of my head, trapping me. I glance at his arms, walls of well-tuned muscle. The tattoos at his neck twitch as he talks.

His face is barely inches from mine but there's nothing romantic about it. "I have a feeling you don't want to talk about a lot of things. Like why you were gone for a whole week, I imagine."

Does he get off on trying to intimidate everyone he meets?

The voice I warn him with is mine, not Clarise's. I grit my teeth. " _Back off, Eric_."

**BANG!**

"Clar!" We both turn to see Gabe and Marla, laughing, pushing their heads through the door. "Hope you didn't wait too long. Sorry, we couldn't help our…uh—" They spot Eric. Then they spot our closeness and misinterpret everything. "OH. Well…we'll uh, just leave you two a—"

"No!" I shout too quickly. They notice the tone. "I just wanted to talk to you guys for a little before heading to bed." My voice goes a little higher, "You guys sounded like you had fun."

I nearly run back into their arms and close the door behind me. To my relief, Eric doesn't follow and I don't see him for the rest of Welcoming Night.


	5. We must sacrifice

**A/N: Eric is no fool and he'll make this clear to Carmen. Even if it means imposing the meaning by force.  
WARNING: Non-consensual, graphic scene ahead. **

* * *

  
I hear the footsteps somewhere in my dreams. In the nightmare, they belonged to my father. He’s coming, readying me for another grueling “training” day, and my body stiffens at the dread of having to sit in that damn torture chair again. But a different voice greets me.

“Alright, time to talk,” he growls in my ear.

Eric finds my forearm in the darkness and I’m wrenched up from my bed, looking straight into his face; the lanterns light his eyes and for the first time I notice they’re blue and not black like I originally thought.

I stumble and yawn as he drags me outside on sluggish feet. Marla is in the bunk closest to me and is in such a stupor from the night’s drinking, she’s out cold, snoring. We move through the quiet hallway then through a door that slams loudly behind us before we take the two stairs up to where his apartment is in the Dauntless compound.

I yank my hand away. It’s so dark in the hallway I can’t see him so I glare at the spot where he most likely is. “This couldn’t have waited until morning?”

I hear the sound of a door opening before he says, “No. Now get inside.”

Leaders live alone and their quarters are pretty spacious though they carry an unshakeable, utilitarian feel. By the door, there’s a sink and mirror and pushed to one wall is a bed below the window. The wrinkled sheets suggest that he was tossing and turning before finding me. There’s a long table by the other wall which holds his laptop and a file cabinet that has locks on all the drawers. Above it is a peg for keys but it's empty. My eyes linger on the cabinet for a long time.

Maybe what Father wants is in there.

Eric shoves me inside and crosses his arms behind him, leaning against the door to close it. My face flushes against my will. In the light of two lanterns on the table, I see he’s shirtless. And from deep inside I feel anxiety building because he’s blocking the way out. I couldn’t overpower him if I tried. His body is broad and he’s steady built with fifty or so pounds of added muscle, his thick arms are riddled with tattoos with veins that rise in his skin from years of heavy lifting and gun wielding. Overall, from afar someone could say he was very attractive. But up close and knowing the way he is, attraction is something I won’t acknowledge.

Whatever he wants – a confession or a favor – I just want it to be over with so I can get back to sleep.

I glare back at him and keep my eyes above his neck, crossing my arms over my chest. “What do you want from me?”

His jaw clenches. “You owe me an explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” I start towards the door but he steps to the side, in front of me, blocking the way.

“I think you do.”

Eric takes a folder from his side table and tosses it at my feet, where it bursts open and reveals papers and laminated pictures. He takes his place against the door as I look down. I see my sister’s face among them and wonder if he’s going to interrogate me on the fears again. My stomach seizes as I recognize the name on the papers. 

Carmen Mathias. _Me_. He was looking at a profile about _me_.

 _Play dumb_ , I think. _Be sweet_.

“I’ve been wondering about my sister.” I bend to look at the pictures, pushing them around gently. “Thank you for checking on her for me.”

“Do you think I’m fucking dense?” He snarls, before adding, “ _Carmen_.”

_Shit. Get out._

“You’re still drunk, Eric. It’s Clarise.” I move for the doorknob but he’s blocking it.

He draws his hand back from behind and reveals what he had been hiding before: a pistol. My mouth goes dry. Do leaders always carry weapons on them? It doesn’t matter now, because his thumb snaps off the safety and he turns the gun to draw it at my heart. I raise my hands and take a few steps back.

“Do you want everyone to know, _Carmen_?” I wince at my name. “If the recent laws say so, impersonating another faction will result in you becoming faction-less. Both of you. Do you want that to happen to your sweet little sister?”

Clarise is my little sister by two whole minutes, Mom once said, but Eric can’t know that at all. But he would have noticed her goodness. The kind that would have pointed her to Amity if she had been so bold enough to run away from my father’s request, but his comment about her being younger strikes me with such a fierce anger I can’t hold it in. I raise my hand to slap him across the face but he pushes me to the floor, to my knees. His arousal at the situation is showing in a taut bulge in his pants. He’s hard; he finds this all amusing.

I ignore it. He presses the gun to my head. I watch, glowering up, as his index traces the outside of the trigger as if teasing it. Would he kill me in his own room? Would he dare?

“You wouldn’t,” I say, half to him and half to convince myself.

“During the night, a Candor transfer tried to attack me and I executed self-defense. Would they trust the word of your dead body over a Dauntless leader’s?”

I don’t need to say anything because it’s rhetorical. I’d be dead and Clarise would end up factionless if Eric went so far as to bring up the duplicity to Max with my blood still fresh on his fingers. No, worse than faction-less. She'll be dead if Father really does go through with his threat.

 _Do whatever you have to do,_ my father sharply whispers. _For the truth…_

I swallow hard. “What do you want then?”

“You want me to keep my mouth shut.” He begins. Eric pauses and his eyes down my body and I shiver. I don’t like where this is going. “For that, what I want..” He taps the muzzle against my bottom lip. “…is for you to use _yours_.”

I look back to his covered erection and hate every inch of it.

“Go on. Pull it out.” He smirks down at me, tracing the muzzle up and along my jaw. “See what a real man looks like. Doubt there’s anyone in Candor who can match up.”

My hands reach up trembling but they drop back in my lap.

“Hurry it up, Candor. Your sister. Faction-less and subject to the scum of the nation. I mean it.”

Looking away, I raise my hands again and undo his pants with slow fingers. The string loosens and the fabric around his waist goes slack. When I pause again, he pushes the gun into my forehead in reminder. But I free him and he springs out. I face my head away, but I can tell he’s an impressive length just by my periphery and it scares me.

Eric sinks his hand in my hair and turns me toward him. My chin bumps against it. “You know what to do,” he says quietly.

I don’t know, actually, but I won’t play his game. I stare at his erect manhood and frown, refusing. But his free hand tangles in my hair, grips it painfully to hold my head still, and he presses himself forward against my lips. I feel the wetness that’s collected there like dew at the tip. I whimper quietly at the intrusion.

My mouth opens to say ‘No’ but he forces himself inside. Eric sucks air through his teeth sharply as he pushes past my lips, his abs contracting in visceral pleasure. I gasp for air, feel my teeth scrape against him in panic. He’s so thick he fills my throat and chokes off any words.

Eric draws himself out with a ‘pop’ noise. “No. No teeth.” He tugs on my hair again and I flinch. The red strands of my hair winding through his closed fist look like trickles of blood. But I slowly open my mouth until my jaws are held wide and he enters again, softly but it’s not enough. “Cover your teeth with your lips.”

 _Think of Clarise_ , my mind orders. _Protect her_. I do as I’m told. 

I try to put myself far away but nowhere is far enough. There’s a wet slapping sound with each thrust into my mouth. Eric’s low moans puncture the silence every now and then with a “fuck” or “Good girl” and I’m reminded of where I am. My jaw aches. Soon, his thrusts become quicker and more urgent and it’s so uncomfortable that my hands fly up to his legs to push him away, but he holds me hard, and keeps on with his relentless thrusts.

“I’m going to give you your first taste of Dauntless,” he groans.

_For the truth, we must sacrifice._

Suddenly his body stiffens and he gives off a loud groan I’ve never heard before, and I feel him spurt into the back of my throat. It’s hot and thick and appears in pulses. Whimpering, I swallow it all down before I can choke or before it can back up into my nose. He thrusts once more, shuddering, before pulling out.

Afterwards Eric tucks himself back in his pants. He takes a step forward and yanks me to my feet and after opening the door, shoves me into the darkness of the hallway. “That’s good enough for now.”

I leave his room with my hand over my raw lips, my eyes wet as I try not to cry.

* * *

**[A/N: Hello dear readers, sorry for the brutal scene but I felt Eric wouldn't be forgiving of something like this. But I promise you, Eric is not as cold as he makes himself in this situation. We've barely scraped the top of this irresistible glacier. ;) Stay tuned for another chapter! ] // Constructive comments & criticism always appreciated! - Beau**


	6. Spoken in Silence

When I enter the meal hall the next morning, I find Marla and Gabe groaning and nursing terrible hangovers. Marla's head is on the table with her arm over it for shade, and she paws at the table for a roll, missing the basket by a foot. I pluck one from the basket and put it in her hand.

She lifts her arm just enough to recognize me.

"Thanks, Clar," she murmurs. Wincing, she bites into the roll before chewing away at it slowly.

Gabe holds a clinking glass of ice water against his forehead, blinking up at the overhanging lights. He shakes a fist theatrically at them. "Damn! Were these things always this bright? Or are they just torturing us especially today?"

I don't reply because the doors are thrown open. Four and Eric stride into the hall. Eric looks happier, the asshole, and even laughs when he greets the early risers at the leader table. His eyes find me and I freeze, but they move on as quickly as they come. He grabs a tray from the side and gets in line for breakfast.

I hope he chokes on everything.

"Your eyes are red," says a voice beside me.

My teeth are clenching when I look at the speaker, but it's just Ben. His hands set a loaded tray down beside me where he sits. It has heaps of bacon, scrambled eggs, sausage, and a scoop of mixed greens, and while mine is the same, I don't have an appetite. He tilts his head and drinks his coffee, watching my face carefully.

I take a sip of water and press my lips together. The cold barely soothes the rawness.

"I missed home," I reply honestly. I almost forget to top my voice with Clarise's sweetness. After seeing Eric, I wouldn't be surprised if I'm baring my teeth at everyone.

And in some sick way, I do miss home. I miss my sister and having someone to confide. Here, I'm constantly in anxiety about being found out, and in the one person who knows who I am, I only find misery.

Marla's body trembles violently and it shakes the table. We turn to look at her, in time to see her hand fly to her mouth. She leaps up from the table, moaning, doubling over." Oh, I'm going to be sick—"

Then she's off, disappearing out the double doors among hoots and laughter. The doors sway behind her, swinging back and forth and bumping once or twice against the wall.

Gabe blinks at us, then at the doors, and he sighs. He sets his glass down. "Okay, I'm coming. I'm coming."

Once we're alone, Ben looks at me again. "You were gone from your bed last night."

My eyebrows twitch. Was he watching me?

"I needed fresh air." Without meaning to, I glance up at the leader's table where Eric is just taking a seat. He's facing away from me and speaks in a low voice to Four. At one point, he feels the pull of my gaze and looks over, and I look back to Ben, who's now scowling at me.

"You don't have to lie to me, Clar. You Candor lot are shitty at it."

I just want him to leave me alone. "Why do you care?"

Ben makes a face like he's about to laugh but doesn't. "If I didn't care about you, and vice versa, we wouldn't have secretly gone and gotten matching shoulder tattoos together during initiation."

My eyes drop and I chew my tongue, thinking angry thoughts. _Clarise got a tattoo_? No. That's not like my sister at all. We'd talked about what we loved about the different factions before, at a time when father was away visiting another faction, and she had always told me how she abhorred the tatted look of Dauntless. But she did love their freedom.

It changed her loyalty easy enough and maybe getting a tattoo was part of this new Clarise I didn't know. I'll have to ask Avery as soon as possible to check what the tattoo it is. My eyes turn on Ben to see if he'll give me any hint on which shoulder it's on but he's wearing a t-shirt that hides both.

But I have to say something right now.

I smile at him. "Yeah, you're right."

Ben takes a deep breath, staring at me, and I suddenly worry he's going to ask me to show it to him, but he doesn't. He only drains the rest of his coffee before excusing himself to report for gun prep duty.

* * *

  
**A WEEK LATER**

Avery meets me on Tuesday every week. The meeting place is at the street-level of the Dauntless compound, three blocks over. He gives me updates on my sister as well as collects any progress from me; so far, it's just him giving me updates because I haven't progressed at all with Eric. I'm hardly at the point where I can ask him anything about Erudite. He makes sure my mouth is occupied from start to finish. No questions allowed.

This time, Avery is not the one paying a visit but my father.

My father's bodyguard sits in the driver seat, ignoring me as usual, as my father insults me:

"It's been two weeks. What have you been doing over there? Having fun?"

The angry tone draws me straight to his belt. But no, it stays belted in; this is no place for beatings. "No. He's more difficult than you realize."

Father grips my chin and turns me to face him. "You're pretty enough but useless. Just like your mother, and all she was good for was spreading her legs. And even then, she still couldn't give me a son."

I suck all the moisture from inside my mouth and spit it directly into his face. That earns one of Father's familiar backhands, strong enough to snap my neck to the side. I clutch my burning cheek as he continues:

"One month. Clarise has one month."

Father climbs into the car and slams the door behind him, and I watch the car pull away in disbelief. One month, he said. One month, like an expiration date he was putting on Clarise, like she was bread going bad.

* * *

  
Over the past week, I've visited Eric's room a total of six times. He doesn't use the gun to intimidate me anymore, but every single time it's the same – I'm left with a bad taste in my mouth and every morning no one knows the difference between Clarise and I.

But they do whisper about why I'm in Eric's apartment so often.

After the last time, I wake up and decide I've had enough. I still taste him on my tongue in a dried tang, and I know I won't do it again. I'm leaving no matter what my father says. I'll run away and beg Avery to help take Clarise with me if she's better and we'll find a life in one of the other factions. Amity, with all their goodness and charity, will listen if we beg them and may make an exception for us. Or they may turn us away because they fear my father's retaliation. But we have to try.

I write a letter with my intentions to Avery and get my response back the same day:

**Dauntless roof.  
** Next Tuesday.  
10PM. 

He won't run with me. But he'll help me get back to my sister and we'll think of what to do from there. From the Dauntless rooftop, we'll walk down to the street where I can get into the trunk of Avery's car for a ride home. I send a "Y" back for yes and try to concentrate on the week ahead. But I can't.

What happened with Eric is bothering me. During that last time, it was almost the same as the first night, but with differences that burn bright in my mind and refuse to leave. Eric's fingers were tangled in my hair, and as he came, he said my name.

"Aw fuck." A pause, then, _"Carmen."_

And that was enough. To call me as if I was something of worth, to acknowledge me when no man did in Candor after my mother died, to know that I was here and now. That I existed. I'm ashamed but I felt _proud_. I felt like I had power to give him or take way the pleasure.

And I swallowed every drop because I wanted to, even ran my tongue over his head in the end to clean it up, flicking it to make him shudder again. I don't know how to explain the change I felt but it wasn't me. It couldn't be Carmen the Angel of Candor. I even smiled at him as I stood up, but I stopped because I wasn't even sure why I was happy. In that confusion, something even worse happened.

Eric pulled me to him, then he kissed me.

There was the sharp intake of breath as his mouth pressed against mine. My hands rose to push him away, but came to a rest on his chest and felt its steady rise and fall, my fingers curling into his shirt. The scent of cordite and musk that always lingered around him was intoxicating in an inexplicable way; I could barely breathe nor could I walk away.

Then he released me. I looked at him, stunned, and he seemed surprised by his own actions, blinking twice. After a moment, his blue eyes looked past me, found a point in the darkness where I wasn't.

He dismissed me and let me out. And for the first time, he didn't slam the door.

* * *

  
**A/N: Eric, I feel, wouldn't be the type that would be easy to fall for. And vice versa because Carmen's a bit of a fighter too. Anyway, how did you like this chapter? Let me know! comments and reviews always welcome :)  
-XXoo Beau**


	7. Kiss the Knife

**A/N: Hello Readers! I hope you're enjoying the story so far; stay tuned for more Carmeric "love" :)** ***review, bookmark, kudos* if you like what you're reading!** **\- xxoo Beau**

* * *

  
**THREE DAYS LATER**

After breakfast, we're broken into groups for knife throwing practice. Everyone who's passed initiation can more or less get a bullseye two times out of three. This practice is meant to keep the Dauntless sharp, but it's another anxiety inducing situation that threatens to expose me.

Although I match the girl next to me step-by-step, my knife bounces straight off the target and thuds onto the floor. I stoop quickly to pick it up. Luckily, the sounds of twenty or so knives hitting bullseyes are loud enough to cover my lame attempts. But I know my crappy aim won't be hidden for long. Eric's conveniently ignoring me so he doesn't have to correct me, and spends most of his time barking at others or smirking in a corner. He must like watching me struggle.

After that night, he hasn't dragged me from my bed. And just as well, I have no idea what to think about that kiss. In a way, it had felt undeniably good and I don't understand it. But I do understand one thing– I've been starved of that kind of affection and attention my whole life; I probably would have been happy if a pig kissed me.

I take two more knives and try to imagine the target is the ass's face. It helps. My first goes wide but the other sticks, trembling, at the bottom edge of the plate.

I reach for another knife but one is offered to me first. Exhaling steadily, I pluck it from the hand before I'm on the target again.

"Shouldn't you be practicing?" I ask.

"I've had plenty." Ben's eyes are furrowed. "You've been spotted going to Eric's room. Is that where you've been disappearing to?"

I take a deep breath and wonder if I should deny it, but there's obviously something between Clarise and Ben that I should probably try to make an excuse for. But there's no good reason I can come up with for why I'd have to talk to Eric at all, forget in the middle of the night. But why lie at all? To spare his feelings? Maybe it's my Candor talking but if the truth will make him go away then all the better. The unblinking way he stares at me makes me even more uncomfortable than Eric's.

"It's none of your business." I toss the knife. Floor, again.

"It's all of my business." Ben steps up beside me. His arm twitches. The knife shakes through the spin but he manages a bullseye - slightly off center but still well within the red confines. "When you needed someone, I was the one you came to."

Somehow I know that "need" is no longer innocent.

"I don't need you spying on me."

I turn to leave but he grabs at my arm, missing enough to clamp onto my sleeve. The way his fingers close says enough about him. They're desperate, unmeasured. In the same way I'm sure he handles his life; trying so hard to get his bearings by grabbing the world so he can see it for a better look. They're fingers of someone who don't seem to know their way around, my mind notes, unlike Eric's.

"Now that you got over talking to Eric, I don't mean anything to you? And about the tattoos-"

I don't want to talk to Ben about this. The guy has terrible timing, for one. Anyone would realize the middle of training practice is the worst time to expect me to explain anything.

By instinct, I look at his fumbling fingers and imagine how they reached, in the same clumsy and fumbling way, to unbutton Clarise's clothes at some point last month. I pull away from him, disgusted. My sister is too timid, too meek to seek out someone for that kind of affection. I wouldn't put it past Ben to have forced himself on her until she gave in. It wouldn't have been the first time something like that happened.

Screw Clarise's sweetness. "The tattoos at the time were a mistake. People make mistakes—"

"There is no tattoo. I never asked you to get one with me."

_Shit._

His fingers tighten around my wrist. "Ben, let go of my arm."

The redness growing in his cheeks turns the tattoos beneath his eyes a sharper black. "Tell me what's going on, Clar. Right now."

"Let go of me!"

Like a skunk, I smell him before I see him. Something masculine singed with gunpowder; a mixture to twist your insides. But I know if I'm near enough to smell him, Eric's already standing too close. The stern line of his mouth barely changes as he talks. "What's the problem here?"

I'm about to say 'nothing' because he's the last person I want in my business, but Ben beats me to it:

He releases my arm. "I…uh..I was teaching her how to throw. She's a little rusty since her fall." As he talks to the leader, he sets his shoulders back in confidence to appear taller, more sure of himself. But he still isn't tall enough to look him eye to eye.

Eric's lips press into a thin line. "Are you the instructor today?"

"Uh, well...no," Ben says, reaching for words, "But I only meant—"

Eric's no longer listening. He's turned to survey the rest of the Dauntless, who are still pitching knives while desperately trying to hear in on the conversation. They turn their eyes back to their targets when they realize he's looking.

He holds up a broad hand, barking, "Hold your knives!"

There's a small handful of thuds before silence, then everyone's looking at us. I draw my arms across my chest and stare at Eric, wondering what the hell he's going to say next.

But his next words are directed at Ben: "I want you to put your hand on the grate."

"Wait—" Ben's face contorts in confusion, "Wait, what?"

Eric nods at the wall of metal that holds the targets. His voice is too calm. "Put your hand on the grate."

"Why? I didn't—"

"Put your hand on the _fucking_ grate, soldier."

The boy looks around at the others, laughing small with open palms, but no one will sympathize or intervene. For a moment he looks like he's about to walk away, but he doesn't. He does as he's told and takes slow steps to the wall. As he passes Eric, he gives him the dirtiest look he can manage, but once he places his hand on the grate, his eyes fall to the floor in submission.

"Spread your fingers. Wide." He waits as the boy's fingers lazily comply. "Now, do not move until I tell you to."

Eric grabs a pile of knives off the folded cloth in front of us. Smooth steps take him back away from the line that we were ordered to throw from, where he stops at twenty feet. He shrugs his shoulders once before starting.

Ben controls his reflexes enough not to flinch as the first knife comes. It embeds itself into the space between his pinky and ring fingers. There's barely a shiver to the metal. Then without further pauses, Eric launches the following knives in fluid throws. They each eat into the metal. Between his ring and middle, middle and index, then finally the gap above his thumb.

The Dauntless fall into cheers and clapping because it's a fine display.

Ben begins to remove his hand, but Eric isn't done. And I know this by hearing his screams first. Ben's loud, hoarse bellows fill the entire room. They take on a high pitched whine as he clutches his wrist, gasping, but he can't pull his hand away. The fifth knife caught him right beneath the knuckle of his middle finger. It pins the flesh against metal. His fingers twitch violently, jerking, as blood spills from the blade and courses down his arm. A pool of red is quickly forming on the floor.

Eric blinks, unmoved by the scene. "I told you not to move." He strides over to the wall and yanks the offending blade from his hand. A spray of red falls to the concrete. Ben falls to his knees with a loud gasp, pressing his bleeding hand against his stomach.

"If you need instruction," He begins, shouting over Ben's whimpers. His voice booms against the walls and echoes around us. "You ask the instructor. No one else." He glances over to the throwers nearest to us. "Get him to the infirmary."

Although I don't really want to, I take a step toward the grated wall because Clarise would want to help him.

Eric stops me, "No, not you. Come with me. We have to talk about your knife throwing."

* * *

  
Among low whispers, we leave the training room together by a side door. I follow him up a three sets of stairs until we stop at a window. This is where he must disappear to for all his smoke breaks. The glass is smudged with soot and both panes are thrown open to let in fresh air, but it does little good. It smells like the inside of an ashtray. The sill is littered with piles of white ash and two empty soda cans full of crushed butts.

Making sure we're out of earshot, I round on him angrily. "You didn't need to do that. He didn't do anything to you."

Eric leans against the wall and takes a slightly crushed pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He doesn't look at me. The moment he's by the window, his movements become almost robotic: he first taps the top of the box against his flat palm, removes a cigarette with his lips, adjusts it, then lights it behind cupped hands. The lighter clicks as he snaps it shut. He looks out the window after the first drag and I suddenly feel forgotten.

"He was grabbing you, wasn't he?" he says.

Eric takes another drag, briefly closing his eyes. And I notice for a moment he has long eyelashes for a guy; but it's a detail that takes me by surprise, like suddenly noticing the beautiful blue hue of a shark's scales before it devours you.

Why would he care anyway?

His lips purse around the cigarette; they're full and a stale pink, and by memory I know, much softer than you'd expect. My eyes fall from them and I quickly look away. I think about all the times he's dragged me from sleep. "You do that too. Make sure to stab yourself next time."

"If he listened, he wouldn't have gotten hurt."

"Bullshit," I snap, crossing my arms. "That was an excuse. You just like to hurt people."

Eric doesn't seem to have a reply for that. The corner of his mouth is tugging up in a smile again- like he knows something I don't- although I really can't find anything funny about the situation. Ben's probably suffering and screaming, dripping blood through the halls, being helped along the the infirmary while Eric's up here, busy taking in the air at leisure.

"Are we done talking?" I ask.

He shrugs, non-committal. "I'm not keeping you here."

I've never been to this part of the compound before, so I head back toward the stairwell, intending to return the way I came. Clarise will probably visit Ben in the infirmary so that's where I will go. But he stops me before I've even taken a step down.

"Carmen."

At the sound of my name, I freeze. Such is the commanding effect of his voice that can make both dauntless-born and transfers flinch. I gaze over my shoulder and his eyes are piercing me in terse blue, with no trace of a smile. "What?" I ask plainly.

"I protect what's mine."

My face flushes. I quickly turn back towards the stairwell and chew my tongue. Luckily, anger overwhelms that strange confusion and pleasure I'm beginning to feel. What am I? A possession? A play thing? It takes effort to swallow but I manage. "I am — not— yours."

"Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better."

My hand shoots up and I flip him off. Then I take the steps two at a time, calling up to him with Clar's sweetness, "Fuck you, Eric."

* * *

  
**A/N: Annndd building up a Carmeric mess :) // *review, bookmark, kudos* if you like what you're reading!**


	8. If World's Collide

**A/N: Hello my dearest followers! Thank you for following the story and for your continued support! I am very, very sorry for the long hiatus. I've been overloaded with a side project that barely gives me time to sleep. Now that it's getting off the ground, I can devote time to writing again.**

**This chapter, I wanted to give Carmeric more time to actually get to know each other.  
Love, Beau**

* * *

  
I try to visit Ben in the infirmary but he refuses to talk to me.

Once he's out, things don't change even when he's sitting with Marla, Gabe, and I for lunch. He'll talk to the others, but never to me. It makes for some awkward meals. I'll try to ask him questions while the conversation's going and he ignores them. And still I try. I don't really like to spend my time like this, but it's something Clarise would have done out of the goodness of her heart so I force myself to do it.

When Gabe and Marla go up to get dessert during dinner, I reluctantly try again.

"Ben, I know things don't make sense," I whisper. "I'm different now and I'm sorry about what happened."

"It's funny." He remarks, and his voice instantly catches my ear. "The only way I can get your attention is if I ignore you and treat you like you aren't worth my time. Is that what Eric did?"

I remain silent and he goes back to staring at his hand, frowning.

"All through training, I helped you," he continues. "I've taken a bullet and now a knife for you. But now that you've become Dauntless and used me to be able to stay above the line during initiation, I'm no use to you anymore."

I frown. A bullet too? When did that happen? Then it strikes me that I really don't know anything that happened with my sister the moment she donned the black uniform.

I try to assuage the guilt I feel, "I'm really sorry for how I've—"

But he won't listen. "Forget it. I see how you really are, Clar."

Then Ben's gone, leaving behind his finished meal. It's always empty save for a fruit cup that he leaves at the edge of his tray. Beneath a circle of plastic there's bits of pear and peaches and an occasional cherry. He never eats it, but he never fails to take it from the selection and prop a plastic spoon on the top. Then I remember. They're Clarise's favorite snack at home.

He probably always gave her his and continued the tradition when I came in her place, hoping she'd remember him.

I sigh and empty his tray along with mine in the trash. The tugging in my heart shouldn't mean much since she'll probably never see him again if we run away. But I wish he didn't have to think of her like this. He's not seeing her. He's seeing me.

And how much a better person my sister really is.

* * *

  
Days pass and Eric doesn't disrupt my sleep. The first few nights, I lay in bed, dreading the sound of his boots clumping to my frame, but they don't come. Instead, I close my eyes and the next time they open, it's to lights that flare in the barracks accompanying the wake up call. I stretch into the sky and yawn with the others. Rested, undisturbed.

And that's when I begin to notice Eric's absence between the terse conversations with Ben at meals. The tattooed leader doesn't show up for breakfast or lunch -which isn't too odd- but his absence at dinner is noted after the third day. There's rumors that he's sick or missing or even dead.

I wonder, almost hopefully, if he's gone and fallen into a ditch somewhere and can't move because all his bones are broken. The thought makes me smile.

It's later in the afternoon on the fourth day that I get wind that he's back, and unfortunately unscathed from wherever he came from. With the threat of Clarise's death looming over my head, I find myself at his door once everyone is asleep.

****

I can't believe I'm actually doing this.

My hand is curled in a small fist, held an inch from his door and it hangs there because I can't bring myself to knock. I barely restrain slamming my head against it because of the hatred I have for myself and the situation.

Fuck this.

_But think of Clarise_ , my mind begs.

I don't need to do this to save her. I can sneak in some other way.

That's enough convincing for me. The relief from giving up lowers my guard; I walk straight into Eric just as I turn around to leave.

He catches me with one hand, fingers gripping my side steady before releasing me. The first thing I notice is that he's exhausted: the rims of his eyes are darker, purpled from lack of rest, and a scruff has grown on his chin without a razor to tame it. Wherever he disappeared off to, sleep wasn't part of the journey.

His blue eyes, bloodshot, widen then narrow when they recognize me. And frankly, he's surprised to see me there. I don't make it unknown how much I hate him if me flipping him off at every opportunity was any clue. If he wasn't in the practice of locking his door every time he slept, he probably did now because of me.

From the smell that rose from him when I hit his shoulder, I know he's been up at his smoking spot for a while and probably tossed back a shot or two.

He allows himself to look amused. "Miss me?"

I smile. "Eat a dick." I mean to move past him but he catches my shoulder first.

"Come on." He says, and his tone is strangely casual as if we're good friends. I suspect he's already begun his trip to intoxication. "Have a drink with me."

My eyes fall to the bottle in his fist that I hadn't noticed before. It's more than half full with an amber liquid and I wonder where he got it from. It's definitely not the stuff that Marla nicks from the kitchens.

"I'm not in the mood," I say, forgoing the second part: I'd rather drink acid.

He blinks, thoughtfully. Then he tilts his head and the grip on my shoulder tightens painfully. "It's not a request."

Then I'm back inside his room, with both a feeling of resentment and victory that I could possibly get what Father needs. Eric closes the door and I quickly scan the top of his desk and cabinet. My eyes find luck on the former: a blue Manilla envelope is bound with string there and sits, half open, under the lamp.

The color so loudly shouts Erudite. I wonder if he's really this stupid for leaving it out where anyone can see.

I'm pushed to the small side table where he pulls a chair for me. "Sit."

He takes a seat as I stare at him suspiciously.

"You were playing a game of truth or dare the first night I truly suspected you." He pours two neat shots into glasses before us. Already I know there's too much in a glass for me to handle. "Let's play again."

That's fine. I can truth the whole night and lie through my teeth the whole time until he's so drunk he can't tell the difference.

He seems to read my mind." But this time, every choice comes with a shot. Dare is a single, truth is a double."

"I don't drink."

"You can't leave until you do," he says.

"You first." He shoves a shot at me. It skids to my chest and I catch it before it tips over. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

He motions for me to drink. The brown liquid swirling at the bottom doesn't seem so bad now that I tip it back and forth, but the smell coming off it is overpowering. But it can't be worse than what he's been making me swallow lately.

The quicker this is over, the better. I hold my breath and pour the whole thing in my mouth.

It burns on contact. The liquor seems to sear going down my throat and I cough, fighting to rid the sensation the whole way. I hear Eric laughing in the background as he sets a glass of water next to me.

He lets me finish the water before talking.

"Why are you here?" He rights my glass and refills it. "As in you, and not your sister."

I down the second one and wonder why on earth anyone would willingly do this. The taste is terrible.

"She couldn't make it back here. And I needed to leave." My memory flashes back to being strapped down to the chair. "It was an awful place."

I swallow and feel wary of the warmth in my stomach. "Truth or dare?"

"Dare," he answers. I really didn't expect differently.

"I dare you to go jump in the chasm."

He doesn't blink. "Well, you're not fun at all." Eric downs his shot and then a second. I see them work their way down his throat, the lump there twitching. "Truth, then."

"Where were you the past few days?"

I expect him to lie, but he doesn't. "I was at Erudite. That's where I was a transfer from."

"Do you have family still there?"

The look he gives me is his answer, but he points at the shot. "That's another question. Wait your turn."

"Truth," I say and Eric sighs. I dread what he's prepared for a dare.

After the first two shots, I know what to expect now and so I brace myself and bear it. It still burns as it goes down, leaving that dry and acrid aftertaste at the back of my throat but I manage to keep the face-making to a minimum.

"Why are you here tonight?"

"I don't know," I lie. "I'd rather not be."

"You're a shitty liar."

"Thanks," I say, beginning to slur. "As you can see from my being Candor, we don't practice that much."

"You're Dauntless now," he corrects me.

"Clarise chose Dauntless, not me."

"Why take her place at all then?"

"Your turn," I press.

"I guess any place away from your despicable father is a sanctuary."

My face flushes red as a giveaway. "Your turn."

"You left your sister to fend for herself then?"

"I didn't." But the accusation in his eyes sparks a fire in me. The possibility that he could think I would just abandon her out of a selfish want to leave...it makes me think about every time I've had to go on my knees, every insult my father threw at me to will me to obedience. I bare my teeth at him, "I did this to protect her!"

Eric pauses to take this in. What I said doesn't give that much away that I worry he'll understand what's going on. Yet, the smirk he gives me means he just received another small piece of the puzzle.

"If it makes you feel better, I went back to Erudite to protect someone too." He stares at his glass for a long while, before finally saying, "Dare."

He takes his shot and the liquor wets his bottom lip. I look at it for a second too long.

"Kiss me again." After the words come out of my mouth, I instantly regret them. Who the hell is talking right now?

The smirk on his face falls and I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to kick me out right now. I'm okay with that. I'd probably sleep out in the hall because I don't trust myself to be able to simultaneously handle balancing and walking at the same time.

And there's the bonus of Eric looking like a dick for leaving girls to sleep outside his door.

"I need to leave," I say, my eyes finding the door.

To my disbelief, Eric says, "Okay."

I brace to push myself out of the chair but he sees me struggling just getting up. He helps me to my feet until I'm standing, laughing to himself, and I reach out so I don't stumble.

My hands find his shoulders but no matter what I do, the grip feels unsteady. "I'm glad you find rendering me stupid hilarious."

"Unbelievable. Drunk after four shots already." He shakes his head. "I should have drank alone."

This stuff is strong. Yet Eric, who happened to drink more before he even saw me, is stronger. It's not fair. What did he expect?

His arms are strong enough to carry me back but I don't think he'll do that. And it's a strange feeling: wanting him to get out of my face while simultaneously also wanting him to hold me closer. The low light in his room dulls the piercing blue of his eyes and for once, they don't make me feel uneasy.

"You should," I sigh. "I don't drink. If you actually listened to—"

The force of his lips pressing against mine cuts off my words. And my thoughts. This isn't the tentative kiss that he gave me before, when it had been a surprise for both of us. No, this one aches of an unaddressed want, where his lips are trying to drink in everything they can and his hands want to know me.

I break off to take a breath but he's back, pressing against me harder than before. A feeling builds in my chest and while I know I should stop him, I don't.

I'm forced back onto the table and hear the clatter of the bottle and glasses bouncing on wood. His body pushes between my knees and his mouth works over my neck, eliciting a whimper from me.

Everything feels good; from the fingers tangling at the base of my scalp to the heat building between our bodies that's hot enough to melt our clothes. His hand begins to slip under my shirt but I panic, stopping him.

The sensation is overwhelming even with the alcohol dulling my thoughts. Somehow I manage, "I can't, Eric."

"Can't what?" He asks, tensing. His tone is from someone who is not used to being denied anything.

"I can't do this. Right now."

The alcohol is doing something funny to me: my thoughts are blurring and I have the sudden urge to lie down somewhere and close my eyes.

His eyes search mine, trying to find a weakness but I stare back at him with as much defiance as I can manage. He steps back reluctantly. "Alright."

The next thing I know, I'm being lifted. Only he's not heading to the door like I originally thought but towards his bed. He dumps me onto his sheets and I roll, marveling at how soft they are.

The light snaps off and his arms find me in the darkness.

"Sleep." He pulls me against him and I'm suddenly afraid to move.

Somewhere in the shadows, the folder waits for me. I instruct myself to wake up earlier than him so the opportunity doesn't pass. The hour passes slowly as I stare into the darkness and his breathing deepens, ever slower, until he's asleep. Never did I wake up this morning to think I'd end up in Eric's bed in such an innocent way.

It's there that I fall into the most confused sleep I've ever had, with Eric's body wrapped around mine and his breath warming the back of my neck.

* * *

**A/N: Well, this was different...What do my readers think? If you like what you read: **comment/kudo/review/follow**! :D Thanks alot and stay tuned.xxoo Beau**   



End file.
